


learn to think our former state a happy dream

by rathxritter



Series: drift back to me (I’ll do the same) [10]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: (unless you read the other parts then the ending is as happy as it gets), Angst with no happy ending, F/M, Jemma Simmons/Will Daniels (mentioned), Leo Fitz/Jemma Simmons (mentioned) - Freeform, Will Daniels (mentioned) - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-21
Updated: 2017-11-21
Packaged: 2019-02-05 05:38:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12788184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rathxritter/pseuds/rathxritter
Summary: "Don't you see," Fitz said. "We're cursed, you and I.""That's just nonsense!" She replied."Well, I beg to differ. We had years side by side, and it never occurred to us. And when it does, we don't have the courage to talk about it.""You only mentioned it the week before my introduction at court!""And you wait until you leave for Oxford to tell me you love me, and then you leave and," he paused. They both knew what had happened next.





	learn to think our former state a happy dream

**Author's Note:**

> It helps if you read [this story](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11432490) first because it gives more insight to what Fitz's reasons are. 
> 
> Unbeta'd.

[Yorkshire 1914]

 

The chaos and the noise of the garden party, that buzzing of indistinct voices that added up to one another making it difficult to follow conversation, could not reach them. They were standing too far away from everything and everyone - from the servants moving around, swiftly and silently, serving refreshments, and from the people in their finest summer dressed, standing there enjoying the company of mutual acquaintances and eating iced cake in a sunny August afternoon. It was all too far away for it to be relevant and, from where they were standing, all that could be heard was the gentle sound of leaves rattling in the soft afternoon breeze, and the chirping of birds, sitting on branches and hidden by the foliage.

Had anyone seen, Jemma wondered, that she and Fitz had sneaked away and left? Or where they all too caught up in their own private lives to pay attention to the anger and sorrow boiling underneath the surface? Surely, given her attitude in the past weeks, someone must have noticed that beneath her polished surface, something was wrong for it was not of her to answer with a complete lack of manners to people - her parents and Tom excluded. However, it was of little if no importance whether or not anyone cared: there were bigger and more important problems and whatever judgement, it couldn't be any harsher than their own.

Now, it was coming back to her how surprised and frightened she and Fitz had been many years ago, as his mother had towered over them and had caught them holding hands. But, even if Mrs. Fitz were to appear, there wouldn't be anything for her to see but two people incapable of looking at the other. What was the worst thing that could happen? That neither she or Fitz would have the time to deliver an explanation or at least try to deliver one. It couldn't be that bad, surely, for even now, with things as they were, she wasn't sure it would ever come. And how much they both would like that, she wanted to tell Fitz, for it would allow them both to hold on tight to their anger and resentments, their self-righteousness and sorrow.

Another thing was not escaping her, and that was that the whole situation bore a sense of circularity that fitted perfectly with their own private history. They were at a garden party, like they had been the first time they had held hands, right under everyone's noses, so elated and happy in front of their blossoming feelings and the knowledge that they were all mutual. And there they were, standing in a secluded area, under the old oak tree, a couple of meters away from the wooden bench on which they had sat and talked, exchanged quick and lingering kisses filled with love and promises. How distant in time those two people now appeared to be, so honest and naive in both actions and view of the world. Everything had been perfect there, and things were so different to the smallest of details, that it now appeared foreign.

Untouchable, that's how they had felt. Above everything: society, history, formality and rules. At the time neither Jemma or Fitz had stopped to think that perhaps, maybe, probably, they were just travelling towards heartbreak, that the day would come when nothing but sorrow remained, and they would find it difficult to look the other person in the eyes and speak. Mistakes had gathered, replacing all honesty, and instead of addressing their problems they had pretended that they were not there to begin with. How easy, considering that she was in Oxford and he was in Yorkshire, their correspondence hardly  appropriate to deal with such delicate matters. When did it start? She wasn't able to pin point a moment and it all went down to admitting that by the time she had indeed noticed, the situation had already slipped away from her and was running in every possible direction. Life had moved on and they had been left behind with no means to catch up, step over the inanities and reach for the larger thought.

She looked up. Fitz was not looking at her, but rather appeared to be studying the way the shadow danced on the fresh cut grass with the same care and attentiveness he put into his work. Above them, the bright lights shone through the leaves, softening every edge and giving the scene dreamlike features - blurry, almost washed away. She'd expected it to be different, sharper, easier to remember, less absurd.

"It's good to be back," Jemma said with honesty, cracking a hesitant smile that was as mechanical and calculated as her own words, and that carried none of the old joy and excitement that seeing him had once brought. She was happy to be back home and to see him again, of course, if only to know that he was doing well, but she was dreading their inevitable argument and the pain it would bring to him and to her equally. There weren't just her actions and words, there were Fitz's too and those were unpredictable.

He was still ignoring her and she stopped talking.

Jemma had had a plan; It was a good one, as all her plans were, for she had attentively come up with it. She'd go to Oxford and come back, that her parents wanted her to marry was no secret and the years away from home would have allowed her to - maybe, perhaps, probably - make it clear to Fitz that if indeed she had to marry, he was the one person she wanted to spend her life with. Fitz was just as good as anyone for her parents, she'd make them see reason. So she'd come back with much more knowledge about herself, the world, curtsey and French,  and she and Fitz would finally talk and they'd be ecstatically happy, not wanting to be anywhere else or with anyone else. And now there they stood, unhappy and incapable of facing each other, with a newspaper announcement standing in their way.

The newspaper, Fitz must have seen it and of that she was sure. It was either that or the fact that gossip spread quickly downstairs and his mother, being close to her parents, must have known for sure; but she could picture it better coming from the newspaper. Fitz at breakfast, a cup of tea, a marmalade sandwich, and the newest copy of the morning paper - the news printed black on white in bold letters. A broken heart, no explanations, and him getting to know about it like a stranger that had never really had a significant part in her life. Sometimes, in the late hours of the night, when there was nothing to keep her distracted, this picture fuelled her guilt. And yet she had wanted to tell him, there had been plenty of letters in which she had tried to write down the piece of news in the kindest and most honest way possible, but the words and sentences written down in her neat handwriting had always sounded too absurd and had failed to fully encompass her feelings. Time had passed, the letters had gathered, and the awareness of Fitz deserving to know from her what was going to happen next, in name of their friendship if not for love, had become more and more uncomfortable.

But he must have known something, if not everything, for the ending to all those happy years could never have been predicted. There had been millions of possibilities, all of them possible, all of them balancing each other out and vanishing as new actions or inactions were made. He must have known this from the very beginning. He must have known about it when they had held hands at the garden party - his warm and sweaty palm pressed against hers, fingers lacing in secret and entwining so effortlessly and rightly that they had looked at each other with a great deal of surprise. He must have known when they had kissed for the first time - all shy and clumsy movements, lack of experience, laughter erupting as their noses had bumped into each other. And he must have known as he had read to her the content of the letter coming from Oxford and she had cupped his cheeks, lips on skin before her mouth had met his. It had never been official or premeditated, the proposal itself had been a surprise, but it had been there - not thought about, not mentioned, softly playing in the background.

Fitz's mother had once told him to be careful, because he would have ended up with nothing but a broken heart and they had laughed about it. Heartbreak couldn't and wouldn't happen to them, yet there they were.

"It's good to see you again," she added tentatively. It was nothing but the truth, even though the memories were staring at her accusingly.

Fitz turned around and finally looked at her, his blue eyes meeting hers, before their gazes nervously moved around and they stepped closer to each other. They shouldn't do it, it wasn't allowed and it would only make things more difficult to both of them, but even now, at the very end, they couldn't leave the other alone. Inches were separating them and Jemma stretched out her hand, her fingertips dancing on Fitz's skin, until she laced her fingers with his - fingers curling at the contact before closing into a firm grip. Then, with infinite and gentle delegations, and with the same hesitancy of the times gone by, they leaned in, mouths meeting midways.

Lips on lips, gently and softly, at the very beginning of a scale of improperly - that was the kiss. It was a kiss that no longer carried the ludicrous feeling of having the other's face so close to their own, and of being watched by their horrified childhood selves. It appeared frozen, outside time and space, noises nor reality could reach them as they stood there, not daring to move. No soft sights, no confidence, no tips of tongues touching playfully in curious exploration as movements became less restrained - that too was the kiss. There was nothing in their minds but the other person and their past and as long as they stood there, they could hold on to the pretence that their relationship remained untouched and unaltered.

In that moment, there was no piece of news and no decisions. There was nothing and no one but them, the world reduced to a microcosm of Jemma Simmons and Leopold Fitz, with their juvenile affection turned into love.

"Jemma," Fitz whispered. Her name sounded different now, new, and the last syllable came out in a broken murmur as if he was going for her nickname but had ultimately decided otherwise. The tone, real, only made the knots in their throats grow tighter and the grasp of their hands stronger - knuckles turning white.

Tears in their eyes, gathering on their eyelashes. Jemma let go of his hand and cupped his cheek, leaning in once more. Desperate and urgent movements, the feeling of his tongue on her lips and then that of their tongues touching - slippery and moist muscle against slippery and moist muscle. One last kiss, and then they'd never talk about it again.

There was the knowledge on both sides that they could have had this, they could have had a lifetime worth of it - wishes and desires on both parts finally coming true.  It felt, for Jemma, as if their relationship had always been at stake and that they had forgotten themselves a long time ago, taken each other for granted, too focused on the idea of something that was either inevitable or meant to be, to take into consideration every possible variable. In hindsight, it had been foolish, but it was too late to do anything.

They parted, panting breaths and foreheads still touching, a string of saliva between his mouth and hers, and the desire for things not to end - not just yet, at least. For reality was harsh and difficult and it felt like waking up from a dream, all truths rearranged.

Jemma was expecting and mentally pleading Fitz to speak. It would take one word and the reassurance that it wasn't too late, that they had a lifetime again to fix their mistakes; that there was a chance for their relationship not to be as ruined as she thought it to be, that she could call of an engagement so as to give them the chance to try again. Who cared what other people would end up thinking, when all the parties involved were jolly well fine with it? No heartbreak, no sorrow, no game of second bests. All friendships still standing.

"Don't you see," Fitz said. "We're cursed, you and I."

The sentence lingered in the air between them and Jemma felt laughter bubbling up down her throat, wild, unrestricted and amused, and annoyance raising inside her. There was no other person on earth that they could blame and the idea of the cosmos having any sort of influence on them was ridiculous, and quite ridiculous indeed. It was Fitz and only Fitz, it had been him all along.

"That's just nonsense!" She replied.

He stepped away; the distance between them was now safe, proper, unfamiliar and felt as wide as ever.

"Well, I beg to differ. We had years side by side, and it never occurred to us. And when it does, we don't have the courage to talk about it."

"You only mentioned it the week before my introduction at court!"

"And you wait until you leave for Oxford to tell me you love me, and then you leave and," he paused. They both knew what had happened next, reality was now becoming clearer and clearer and therefore inescapable. Any moment he'd speak again, with the same broken and angry voice as before, and they'd finally reach the core of their problem. "Then you come back."

Jemma wished Fitz not to speak any further.

"You come back and you're engaged to Will Daniels of all people, and I got to know it from some stupid newspaper like some sort of-"

His anger was fuelling her own and the precision in all his attacks made her want to scream every single thing that in the past year she had kept to herself. Who was he to point fingers at her without taking into consideration her own objectives? This attitude was not like them, but there was something delicious in it that allowed them to break free and distance each other, taking their stand.

"I'd have told you," she started, but Fitz spoke again, depriving her of any chance of delivering an explanation,

"But?"

"But it was never the right moment!"

"The right moment? The right moment? How about the moment it happened, when you said yes to him."

Jemma thought about all her letters, all the _my dearest Fitz-_ s that she had written in the privacy of her room. At the time, she had considered the news something that had to be delivered in person with no intermediate, but her departure for Yorkshire was too far away and with what words and courage could she talk to him? There had been plenty of words, but they had all sounded empty and insignificant.

"I couldn't." She exhaled, her sharp breath cutting through the air. "I didn't want to-"

Saying _hurt you_ seemed out of place, because he had been and was hurt by her actions; but had he ever stopped and thought that his inactions had equally hurt her? That she had waited and waited as confusion had grown bigger and bigger, for words that had never come?

"Top marks student. Oxbridge was it? Heir to a newspaper. Charming."

"Don't do this Fitz."

"He must be awfully proud of himself," he replied with sneer.

"Don't drag him into this."

"You know, you two really deserve each other," Fitz muttered under his breath. His hands on his face, rubbing his eyes as if wiping away tears that might have rolled down silently on his cheeks and a sigh escaping his mouth, a long pause offering a recollections of thoughts, that made the air appear heavy.

What was to come next? The accusation that Will was after a title and she was after money? Part of her wanted Fitz to go on speaking, carefully and clearly pronounce his sentences so as to ignite her anger even more and allow her to drop all consideration and restriction. If they had to dismantle their relationship in that moment and if they had to part thing very badly of each other, then they should do it correctly and not hold back. Title and money, playing people like puppets - of course he would reduce it to that, no doubt he was thinking that she didn't have any feelings at all.

"Do you love him?"

"No." Jemma shook her head. "Not like that anyway. Not like I love you."

And it was hard to imagine, quite hard indeed, ever loving someone the same way and as much as she loved Fitz. For the longest time she had dreamt of marrying him and the two of them living together, both of them doing their jobs; it had always appeared obvious and consequential to all that was going on, every single step reinforcing their future. For the longest time she had thought Fitz wanted the same thing, that the only thing that bound and restricted him where his own insecurities and doubts, nothing that he couldn't overcome with some conversation.

"Then why?"

"We're friends. It could have been worse."

"Worse?"

"Worse," she repeated drily. It wasn't a difficult concept to grasp, because her choices were obvious. With Fitz out of the equation, it was either Will or some random person from London's high society - snob, arrogant, who would never give her the freedom to fully live her life. Will was a friend and she liked him well enough, the idea of a future together was bearable and they had found their own compromise. "For heaven's sake, Fitz, you always make everything so black and white. It's not."

"This is black and white, Jemma!"

She looked away, her gaze moving to the abbey, and studied the way the afternoon sun shone through the spires. They remained silent, she was too tired of saying anything, too angry for words to come up coherently and for sentences to be poured out in a grammatical fashion.

"Would you have said yes, had I asked you to marry me?" he asked, curiously.

"Of course."

"So I've ruined everything?" Fitz scoffed, and Jemma wanted to scream that yes, he had indeed ruined everything.

"I was so sure, Fitz. About everything." She paused. "But you've shown me I was living in a dream, and it's time to return to the real world. You seem eager to return to it too."

"Jemma-"

"Tom said you're leaving, are you?"

"I can't stay."

One thing they had in common.

"What will you tell papa?"

"The truth. I'm glad for everything he did for me and my mother, but the time to leave has finally come and I'll just try to be someone outside of all of this. I may not own a newspaper, but I'm clever in my own way and I'll find something to do."

"Nothing to keep you back-"

"Not anymore."

There was tears now, in both their eyes, spilling out and rolling down their cheeks.  The knot at the back of their throats now wouldn't and couldn't go away. Jemma's lower lip trembled and she bit it from preventing herself to speak any further, about inquiring whether their friendship still meant anything, in fear that the answer was _what friendship_ _?_ Most likely it didn't, not after everything that had happened between them, and yet the thought of losing Fitz's friendship, that one time had been so encompassing and easy, was worse than their ruined relationship.

"Wish me luck, Jemma. God knows I wish the best for you." He smiled at her with sadness, lips pressed together into a thin line and shoulders half raising, and then sighed, turning around without a second glance.

She watched him walk away, his figure getting smaller and smaller. Only when she was completely alone did she let out a loud sob and cried in complete freedom, not bothering to wipe the tears away, as far away, back at the garden party, her father announced the news of Britain being at war with Germany.


End file.
